About death, poet Dylan Thomas wrote: Do not go gentle into that good night. For 9-year-old Zach Thibodeaux, a different kind of night is approaching: the erosion of his visual connection to the world around him.

Nearly two years ago, the Lewisville boy was diagnosed with cone-rod dystrophy, an incurable disease gradually destroying his retinas.

At 9, he and his peers are latching onto activities physical and intellectual, discovering the things they like to do, discovering themselves. New skills and successes spark confidence that helps shape social development.

But for Zach, who has minimal sight left, the prospects are more challenging. His family encourages him: Zach, you can do anything you want. At the same time, they’re wary of setting him up for disappointment.

Some days are good, some not. One day, he and his mother, Johanna Uek, were at Tuesday Morning, in the toy section.

What’s this game, mom? Do you think I can do this one?

“All these games are for sighted people,” Uek said, recalling the moment. “He wants to play. He just doesn’t think it’s fair.”

Like his mother, Zach is highly spiritual, a gifted child whose grades and sweet-tempered demeanor began to suffer until he was properly diagnosed. Since then, he has excelled at Braille and reclaimed his academic prowess.

Still, as he begins to comprehend the realities before him, anger occasionally sets in. He hates the idea of being thought incapable. He resists the label of blindness being thrust upon him.

As his world goes dark, he is — in the poet’s words — raging, raging against the dying of the light.

At 72, Kaoru Ishii has the build and complexion of a man decades younger. The fifth-degree black belt was talking about the prospect of teaching Zach the martial art he has studied for five-plus decades.

While some martial arts focus on creating contact, he said, judo is more defensive: Students learn to capitalize on their foes’ momentum, felling them with throws rather than blows.

The initial grip on an opponent’s robe, Ishii said, is key, allowing one to sense actions before they happen. “I can sense through the uniform,” he said. “His grip will change, so I can tell what he’s going to do.”

Ishii’s sessions, held at his Garland studio, are intense and nonstop. As his white-robed students stretched and tussled, Ishii spent the time aping the drills or lifting dumbbells.

After just weeks, Zach still struggled, good with practiced routines but faltering as Ishii introduced new moves. For those, the sensei had to physically guide Zach’s limbs through the motions.

“Each time we come, he picks up a little more,” said Adam Thibodeaux, Zach’s father.

Student Emily Baudot, 18, had emerged as a class leader — faster, stronger, focused as a fighter pilot. She’d taken Zach under her wing, offering advice:

Don’t let go.

At this point, the smart thing to do would be…

You don’t have to go where I pull you.

Over and over, she flipped and pinned him. “Never let go,” she told him. “I was able to do whatever I wanted.”

The determination in Zach’s face was evident as they grappled, trying with all his little-boy muscle. He grimaced; she was stronger.

After several tries, the smaller Zach heaved Baudot over his shoulder. “Yes!” he said excitedly.

“Good job. Really good,” Baudot said, smiling. “That hurt.”

“Judo’s a lot about momentum,” she said later. “I’m trying to get him into the mindset of not actively resisting.”

Losing pastimes

The boy who loved video games can play them less and less. Zach has to stand right in front of a giant TV monitor placed as low as it can go.

Soccer, too, has become difficult. Zach’s sight has been reduced to what amounts to a singular sliver of sight in one eye and scattered starry bits in another.

Strength and exercise will be crucial as he ages, advocates for the blind say: Obesity and inactivity especially plague visually impaired adults.

Mindful of that, the state’s Division for Blind Services, part of the Texas Department of Assistive and Rehabilitative Services, sponsors an annual sports festival for the state’s blind children.

Juanita Barker, the division’s programs management director, said the benefits of exercise aren’t just physical. “It’s a huge confidence builder when they see they can participate like any other kid,” she said. “Think of what it does for self-esteem and social skills.”

Sports options for the blind are increasing, either via original games like goalball — a sort of cross between air hockey and soccer, played on a court — or others that have been adapted. Beep ball, for instance, is a baseball-like game in which the sounds of the ball allow blind players to track its whereabouts.

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